


like twine unravelled

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Dragon Age II - Act 3, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Sex, Light Bondage, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: Varric did a lot of things for Merrill.Things that cost him nothing, like giving her a ball of twine so she didn’t get lost. Things that cost him a fortune, like paying Lowtown thugs to leave her alone at night – and bribing Hightown gardeners to let her pick flowers.Things that made his editor mad, like putting Merrill’sHard in Hightownreview on the front cover. Things that even cost him readers, like writing a griffon called Feathers into his novel – just because she’d love it.He did it all without her asking.
Relationships: Merrill/Varric Tethras
Comments: 19
Kudos: 22
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	like twine unravelled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Settiai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy your gift, Settiai! Thank you so much also to my beta-readers Storybookhawke ([GhostGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison)) and Bengalaas ([beng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng)) for all your help with this. Thank you also to the amazing [cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (Manka)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold) for also giving this a once-over - and for your wonderful organisation of this exchange! 
> 
> \-------

“You should have this back.” Merrill’s voice was as cute and bubbly as always, but Varric was confused by the tightly-wound ball she held out to him.

“Twine? When did I loan you a ball of twine?”

“You gave it to me when I first moved here when I kept getting lost in Lowtown,” Merrill chirped; even after so many years in the choke-damped alienage, her cheerful face was as bright and fresh as a daisy. “It drove the merchants in the market completely batty, but it did help me find my way.”

She smiled at him then, big green eyes round and shining, the colour of moss and forests and all those other outdoorsy nature things he normally didn’t like. But Varric liked it about her.

Truth be told, Varric liked a _lot_ of things about Merrill. Things he normally didn’t think he’d like. Things that made him want to protect her, please her, make sure she was happy and make sure she was safe.

In fact, Varric _did_ a lot of things for Merrill. Things that cost him nothing, like giving her a ball of twine to stop her getting lost. Things that cost him a fortune, like paying thugs in Lowtown to leave her alone at night – and bribing gardeners in Hightown to let her pick flowers.

Things that made his editor mad, like putting Merrill’s _Hard in Hightown_ review on the front cover, relegating the Champion of Kirkwall’s review to the back. Things that even cost him readers, like writing a griffon called Feathers into his latest novel – just because she’d love it. (He even made it extra fluffy, just like she wanted; and Merrill was extra delighted.)

He did it all without her asking.

But right now, Merrill was standing there by her doorway in the alienage, smiling so sweetly and cheerily offering back to him one of the very things he’d given her to keep her safe. (He couldn’t always be there to accompany her around Kirkwall, after all.) She was wildflower-pretty, tall, willowy; a whole head above him in height, clad in green like the leaves of the alienage tree. He was short and squat and solid as the earth beneath her feet.

The twine in her hand was as brown as the threads on his leather duster. Varric waved it away.

“Keep it, Daisy.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting lost again anytime soon,” she assured him, with a bright smile.

“You never know.” Balls of twine were two-a-penny in Lowtown Market, but Varric kept his tone casual; he didn’t want her to hear his wistfulness that she didn’t need his help anymore – that she might not need _him_ anymore. “You might need to tie a package up, hang a lantern, dress a roast chicken. It’s multipurpose.”

Merrill’s eyes were like saucers. “Oh. That’s very clever, isn’t it? You really do think of everything, Varric! I’ll try to find a good use for it, if I’m not getting lost anymore.”

Varric chuckled. She always knew how to make him smile. “I’m sure you will, Daisy. I’m sure you will.”

* * *

Merrill loved books; her home was a veritable library of shelves groaning under the weight of the heaviest tomes on ancient, forbidden magics. She was a girl who’d grown up on stories and storytelling; and now that she was in Kirkwall, she’d come to rely on Varric’s stories – and he made sure he told her the best. (He _had_ to outdo that Hahren Paivel guy she'd told him about, at any rate.)

When she wasn’t there, some of Varric’s favourite stories to tell were about her. Merrill was entertaining. She’d got lost so often it was the common thread twined through the anecdotes he regaled the Hanged Man with, linking locales as diverse as a dog-racing track in Darktown, or the Viscount’s bathing room in Hightown, and all the other places she’d found herself in.

“Daisy, I could never make that shit up,” he once told her, with affectionate gruffness. “No one would ever believe it.”

But when she was there, Varric couldn’t deny it was often flattering to have Merrill in his suite, wide-eyed with wonder and awe, while he regaled his latest tall tale to her; or peered over his glasses at her as he read out his latest novel draft. However, it was even more flattering to see so many of his novels end up on her bookshelf. _Hard in Hightown_. _Swords and Shields_. Every time he visited her, he told himself he just wanted to see his books take pride of place in her cramped apartment.

He’d been telling himself this for years.

He’d been there in her apartment when Hawke had walked in and told Merrill she was pretty, and she had blushed so adorably and demurred that she was sure the rogue told Varric he was pretty at least once a day. Varric, sat on her bed at the time, could only joke _pity I’m not into humans_ to hide the pang that shot through him. But even _he_ had been surprised at his relief when Hawke eventually turned Merrill down; less so about the brave face she tried to put on at having her romantic hopes dashed.

He’d been there in her apartment when she smashed the mirror, wasted years culminating in loss and heartbreak. Varric knew how that felt; Bartrand and Bianca had taught him those lessons well, and the latter had cut the cord for what was possibly the final time. Varric could only be glad Merrill chose to turn her back on the mirror and the clan and choose a new path – Daisy didn’t need to repeat his mistakes, hanging on to old losses instead of severing ties. Before the Keeper’s fateful end, she’d spent so much time locked away with the eluvian that Varric had taken to having produce delivered to her door, so worried was he that she wasn’t eating.

His books had outlasted that damned mirror at any rate.

And now, he was there in her apartment, in happier times, delivering to her – with a flourish of pride – his finished book, in which Feathers the griffon heroically charged into a town and saved the day. They’d had much to mourn over the years – both outcasts who'd lost their families, although in very different ways – but tonight Daisy was practically bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm, cheeks rosy and glowing in the firelight, her Dalish lilt full of excitement for some reason. 

There was something different in the atmosphere tonight, Varric thought. The way she was looking at him… no. Couldn’t be. Not from _her_. There was a reason Isabela called her Kitten, round-eyed and innocent, while Varric called her Daisy, a cute nickname for a cute girl. She was sweet, smart, kind; bright and cheerful as the flower he nicknamed her after – the flower he decided to take care of all those years ago without any expectation of anything in return. Without realising for the longest time why he was even doing it. 

If he couldn’t be anything more to her, he would damn well make sure she was happy and safe, always. But sometimes flowers grew in unpredictable ways, and sometimes stories unexpectedly unravelled. Tonight… there was something in those sidelong glances at him, something in that knowing smile of hers, that made him heated around the collar despite his open shirt. Huh. Maybe she had the fire too high.

After she squealed with delight over his finished book – full of effervescent praise that made him even warmer inside than he was already – she held out that ball of twine to him with a smile once again.

“I think I’ve found a good use for it,” she said. “Let me show you.”

Varric chortled, surprised. “Now, Daisy? You’re not gonna say anything about the book?”

“Oh I will,” she answered. “This is more important, first. Look! I sneaked a peek in Anders’s grimoire for a spell I could cast on the twine—” She smiled at him. “I made it stronger. It should hold better for this. I think you’ll like this.”

With a wave of her slender fingers, the twine untangled and unravelled, the complete opposite of the dwarf’s mind right now, watching and marvelling at her cleverness like he always did – the same cleverness and bookish mind he wrote into the character of Maysie in _Hard in Hightown_.

“I was always too absorbed in the eluvian to notice,” she chirped, but it sounded dreamy, more distant, and Varric fought the surge of hope he’d long buried inside him. “But since I stopped working on the mirror, I had a lot of time to notice everything you’ve done for me over the years.”

For once, Varric’s silver tongue failed him; he had a reputation to maintain, but Daisy was making it difficult.

Varric had once joked she was the only connection to nature he actually liked. She had an easy, cheery nature that was easy to get on with, easy for him to impress, easy for him to take care of; it was easy to ignore that she was a _blood mage_ , a woman with a mind as sharp as an arrowhead and a resolve of steel. It was easy to ignore that she wasn’t an innocent kitten or a daisy, and she had survived the city of Kirkwall when so many countryside elves would not have done. He watched her fingers trail gently through the air, and suddenly wondered how they'd feel trailing through his chest hair.

He cackled, trying to laugh with an ease he didn’t feel, and shrugged. “I’m just a businessman and a storyteller, Daisy. I like my wine fine, and my affairs in order. I like my friends safe and my enemies far away.”

Merrill laughed, and the twine settled around him with whatever spell she was casting. “But you’ve not just kept me safe. You’ve looked after me a lot over the years, Varric,” she purred, her beautiful green eyes lidded now, and he gulped.

She couldn’t _possibly_ be trying to seduce him, Varric told himself again. This wasn’t a side of her he’d seen before. But she was older, wiser, and so was he. He couldn’t make excuses to himself anymore about why he’d always done so much for her. Why he was here right now.

He loved her. He realised he’d always loved her. Bianca had been a habit that had been hard to break, their entanglement seemingly hard to undo. But his feelings for Daisy had grown through his denial all these years; blooming and flowering beneath, even, taking root in his heart. Denial was something Varric knew well, but tonight he couldn't deny it anymore. 

* * *

Varric gave Merrill that ball of twine to stop her getting so lost. Now, Daisy used it to find her way to him. She used it to make new ties, between him and her.

But because she was Merrill, she made sure she was gentle. Careful.

The twine unravelled fully, and draped itself around his now-naked form, guided by nothing except her magic and the candlelight, and he was happy to lie down and submit to her at last, to let her tie him up and have her way with him – a perfect fit in ways that had never been obvious before now. He was stocky where she was slender, rough where she was smooth, golden hair against dark; nonetheless united in joy and laughter and new understanding after so long. The twine secured him to her bedpost, strengthened by both her magic and the bond between them, which had only grown all these years.

Even if it had taken till tonight to realise it. 

“Don't worry, Varric,” she’d soothed him, her Dalish lilt gentle. “Let me look after _you_ tonight.”

Varric had spent six years in Kirkwall protecting and looking after his Daisy. Tonight, she promised, she would make it up to him. Tonight – finally – they would make love, and become one at last.

And like twine unravelled, they came undone.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always welcome and I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts! Don't forget to check out the other excellent works from this year's ["A Paragon of Their Kind" Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/a_paragon_of_their_kind/works)!


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